Solidarity
by princessozmaofoz
Summary: "In the end, we will remember—not the words of our enemies—but the silences of our friends" – -Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.- Warning for: Character on deathbed. Hathaway/Innocent friendship and Lewis/Hathaway friendship.


_Acknowledgements and Disclaimers: _ This story has been dedicated to prosfan, without whose encouragement and inspiration it would never have been written. Also, though I did do a bit of research on the situations that transpire, I'm no medical expert and may have made some errors. Try to accept them for the sake of the story. Finally, I do not own any of the characters that appear in this work.

Solidarity

_"[Friendship] has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."—C.S. Lewis_

_"In the end, we will remember—not the words of our enemies—but the silences of our friends" – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr._

"Jim, are you awake?" The Geordie accent was gentle, familiar, comforting. And yet, James Hathaway could not remember a time when he'd been less happy to hear his inspector's voice.

"Just…barely…" Hathaway said, tentatively opening his eyes.

" If this is a bad time, I can…I can come back." This voice too was familiar, but higher, smoother, and undeniably feminine.

" Ma'am? Is…is that you?" He opened his eyes wider and sat up in bed. Sure enough, Chief Superintendent Innocent stood beside Robbie. There was an uncomfortable expression on her face that mirrored the one on Lewis's own face. Even after all this time, they still weren't used to seeing him like this.

Though disturbing, the diagnosis that Hathaway had lung cancer hadn't been particularly shocking. From the day James had lit his first cigarette over fifteen years previously, he'd known this was going to come back and bite him in arse someday—that in a sense, he was only playing a prolonged round of Russian roulette with his body. Surprisingly, that knowledge hadn't stopped him. It had started as an act of rebellion—a way of protesting against his strict, old-fashioned father's unfair rules. He'd wanted to take his life into his own hands, to be responsible only to himself—even though he was at least somewhat conscious that was merely trading one harsh master for another.

In some way, he'd been extraordinarily lucky; the doctors had been able to diagnose the cancer quickly enough to treat it. Hathaway had dutifully shaved his head and had undergone chemotherapy—just as the hospital had advised him too. For awhile, the treatment had seemed to have been successful—until it was discovered that the chemotherapy had done significant damage to his liver. A number of drugs had been tried to repair the damage, but they'd only made everything worse. The only possible cure at this point was a transplant.

When he'd learned of this, Lewis had immediately offered part of his own liver, though Hathaway had protested vehemently.

" _Do you have any idea what the living donor survival rate is?"_

" _Do __**you**__? I have a feeling it's much higher than ya think it is, lad. And in any case ya need it more than I do. You're still young and there's still so much living for ya to do yet. And well, I'm…. getting on a bit," the inspector replied, giving a self-deprecating smile._

"_You?" Hathaway's face took an expression of mock surprise. "Don't be thick. You're a veritable picture of youth and health."_

"_And __**you're**__ a cheeky bastard."_

"_I'm also the chief super's favourite," the sergeant replied, shooting Lewis his most-mischievous grin._

_Robbie's tone suddenly lost any trace of flippancy. "Don't flatter yourself, and don't change the subject. As I was saying, I'm getting on a bit. Even if I don't survive—which I probably will—there's isn't much here for me anymore—unlike you."_

"_Rubbish. What about Lyn and Ken and your grandchild?"_

_The inspector hesitated. It was clear that he hadn't considered this. "They'll manage," he said finally._

"_What about Laura?"_

_Lewis cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What about her?"_

"_I've always thought that the two of you…that someday when the time was right…"_

" _So did I, lad," the inspector sighed. "But still, it's better this way. She's young and clever and beautiful. And I'm old and stupid and crotchety. She has a whole, full life ahead of her, and I'd hold her back from that."_

"_No, you wouldn't. You love her too much."_

_Lewis nodded absently and then seemed to suddenly process what the sergeant had just said. "I…what?"_

"_You may not realize it yet, sir, but you do love her. And she deserves to know—especially because I think she feels the same way."_

"_What makes ya say that?"_

" _What was it that you told me awhile back? 'A good detective is nothing if he's not perceptive'? I've seen the way she looks at you—and I've seen the way you look at her. And what I see is something far deeper than mere physical attraction. So, why not act on it?"_

_Lewis started to mutter something about being afraid, but Hathaway interrupted. " Let me get this straight? You face down hostile, armed suspects without batting an eyelash, and yet, the thought of being rejected by a woman who obviously fancies the hell out you frightens you? And you tell me __**my **__priorities are screwed up…. " The sergeant rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Just do yourself a favour—don't let her slip through your fingers, because eventually she'll get tired of waiting for you and will move on."_

"_When did you suddenly become such an expert on love?" the inspector asked, shooting his sergeant an appraising look._

"_Robbie, if I'm an expert on love, why the hell can't I make sense of my own heart?"_

" _I dunno. Perhaps ya don't have one?"_

"_Perhaps not." But Hathaway knew this was wishful thinking on his part. He had a heart—or at the very least he'd once had one. He'd lost it so many times that it was a wonder he could still feel it thumping in his chest. Maybe hearts –like cats—had nine lives. _

_No, that was stupid, and James Hathaway was the farthest thing from stupid. If that was the case, why would have wasted those heart-lives on so many unworthy candidates? Or on those for whom he himself was the unworthy one—those who would never remain more than a beautiful, impossible daydream in his mind?_

_Lewis's voice interjected Hathaway's thoughts. "That poses a bit of a problem, mate. Cause I'm rather attached to me own heart, and I don't I'm willing to donate it even for you. Me liver though, that's another matter entirely…"_

Of course, the inspector hadn't really thought the matter through properly. At sixty-two, he was over the maximum donor age, and even if he hadn't been, he wasn't the healthy specimen doctors preferred anyway. And seeing as Innocent and Hobson—the only two other people who might have considered this option—were both different blood types than Hathaway, the sergeant found himself at the end of a long, waiting list for a transplant.

Eventually, James's health had deteriorated to the point where he could not bear to leave the hospital. He hated it here—all the blood and medicine and the pervasive aura of melancholy. Lewis's visits made it slightly better though. The inspector came to see him three times every day—once for about twenty minutes in the beginning of the day (when Hathaway was only half-awake), once during his hour-and-half lunch break, and finally for five hours at the end of each workday. On Sundays, he was there all day, even taking his meals with his former sergeant—all the while complaining about the nasty hospital food and reminding James that he planned to treat him to a "proper meal" once "this whole mess was over with."

Sometimes, Lewis would bring Innocent or Hobson with him, but never both at the same time. Hathaway suspected that Lewis didn't want to overwhelm him—reasoning that James was already feeling smothered enough by the tense, claustrophobic atmosphere of the hospital.

Even now, Innocent was exhibiting a similar anxiety. Though Robbie had already moved to sit down in the chair on Hathaway's right side, the chief superintendent lingered in the doorframe—as though she was unsure James truly wanted her company now. Jean was half-right in that respect—though not for the reasons she'd suspected. _ He_ genuinely wanted to see _her_; he just didn't want _her_ to see _him_. He hated the idea that she was witnessing his greatest moment of physical and psychological vulnerability.

James hadn't this problem with Robbie. Because the two men had worked in such close contact for the past several years, each had seen the other at his absolute best and his absolute worst. Hathaway could relax in Lewis's company—taking comfort in the fact that the older man wouldn't think any less of him for it. It was one of the things he loved most about having a friend like Lewis—one of the things he'd miss most if everything ended the way he suspected it ultimately would.

Hathaway wasn't sure where he was going to end up in the afterlife. He liked to think he was a pretty decent person, but he also knew that he'd done some horrible things in his time. Was it enough to seal his eternal damnation, or would God be merciful? Regardless of his fate, one result would be the same; whether he wound up in Heaven or Hell, or somewhere in-between, he'd still miss them—Laura, Jean, and Robbie most of all.

The funny thing about dying was that it was making James appreciate life so much more than he had ever done before. There were so many little things surrounding him of which he was only just starting to see the value—things that he'd often taken for granted in the past but never would overlook now that he was on borrowed time: Lewis's boyish grin, Hobson's boundless wit, Innocent's beautiful eyes.

Those very eyes were now locked on Hathaway as their owner tentatively spoke from her place at the door. "Are you sure this isn't a bad time? I'd hate to think I was keeping you from your rest."

" It's not a bad time at all. " Hathaway's face suddenly broke into a grin as a new thought struck him. " And if you'll forgive my cheekiness, ma'am, you certainly had no qualms about keeping me from my rest when I was still an active member of the force."

"That is to say…I mean… I…."the chief superintendent stammered.

"Calm down, I promise I was teasing. And in any case, I get far too much sleep nowadays as it is. There's not much else to do here, I'm afraid—apart from reading and endless rounds of solitaire. Which reminds me…" He gently turned his head over to Lewis. " I never thanked you properly for that card deck—did I?"

Robbie modestly brushed off the thanks. "S'was no trouble. It was just lying around me flat, gathering dust, and I thought ye might find some use for it. If there's anything else ya need, just say the word."

"I'll let you know if I think of anything. For now, it's a pleasure enough just having you here._ Both_ of you," he said, glancing over at Innocent as well.

This remark seemed to end of any Jean's doubt that she was unwanted. The chief superintendent carefully moved over to take the chair on the left side of Hathaway's bed. "A sight for sore eyes—are we then?"

" Funnily enough, I think my eyes are the only part of me that isn't sore right now."

Lewis gave a slight grimace. "That bad, huh?"

"I can manage."

" Oh, I can believe that, lad. Just please remember that you don't have to manage alone. That's why we're here," the inspector replied as the chief superintendent nodded her agreement.

The sergeant grinned broadly. "I know."

"And we'll stay as long as you need us too."

Hathaway didn't have the heart to tell Innocent that this was impossible. If James was being totally honest with himself, he had to admit that he needed them to stay by his side _forever _so that they might be his anchors, that they might continue to embody everything that was right with this harsh, cruel world: courage and loyalty and integrity and devotion and compassion and strength.

But he knew that it would be selfish of him to make them stay forever—to hoard all of that goodness for himself when it deserved to be shared with everyone. So, he'd reluctantly let them go after only a few hours; he'd let them return to bettering the world in small, significant ways one day at a time.

A loud ringing interrupted Hathaway's thoughts. Lewis removed his mobile from his pocket, glanced briefly at his caller id, and then looked back at James, a slightly guilty expression on his face. "It's our Lyn. She and her partner have been having a bit of a colic problem with the bairn recently, and I told her to call me after she's spoken to a doctor. Would you…would you mind horribly if I…."

"Not at all. Jean can keep me company until you get back."

Lewis answered the phone and nodded his thanks to Hathaway as he made to exit the room.

"God, I miss working with him," James said once the loud sound of Robbie's laugh had faded completely.

"Not as much as he misses working with you."

"No, you're right. Not 'as much,' _more_."

Innocent smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He's not the only one who misses you, though."

Hathaway studied her for a moment, and then said. "And he's not the only one I miss."

"Are you flattering me, sergeant?"

"Who says I was talking about you?" he teased.

"Well I suppose some things never change. You're still horribly cheeky."

"Don't forget facetious, insubordinate, and smug."

"You were never smug, James; it was just the unfortunate shape of your face."

Hathaway grinned and for a moment became the lively, jesting twenty-something sergeant once again. He even looked a bit like the old Hathaway with the old close-cropped hairstyle he'd adopted again after chemotherapy. "Oh but I was, ma'am. I was smug, arrogant little toerag, and I honestly don't know how you could bear to put up with me; I couldn't have done it."

She shrugged. "So what if you were a bit of an arse? You were twenty-seven. Everyone's a bit of an arse when they're twenty-seven."

"Twenty-eight."

"It's only a year off."

He let out a deep sigh and then looked away. "If I've learned anything at all these past few months, it's that one year can make a hell of a difference. This time last year, Lewis's daughter was in the second month of her pregnancy. And this time next year, I'll be nothing more than a fleeting memory—maybe not even that."

"What…what are you saying?" He could hear the slight panic in her voice, the unwillingness to believe that the rest of their time together might be so brief.

"You know what I'm saying, Jean. I am going to die— within a few months in all likelihood " He glanced back over to Innocent, and noticed that the chief superintendent was shaking her head vigorously, foolishly trying to ignore the clear signs that were right under her nose.

Well, that was Jean Innocent for you—refusing to believe anything unless there was indisputable evidence of its validity. It was a relief to know that despite all the depressing recent events, that much had stayed the same.

"I hate the thought just as much as you do, but denying death isn't going to ward it off. It might even bring it on that much quicker."

"You're _not_ going to die, James—not here and now at any rate." Her tone was strong, but he could still hear her voice wavering in places—suggesting that she wasn't nearly as sure as she pretended to be. "Why you're third on the transplant wait list!"

"Thirteenth."

"But Robbie said…"

Hathaway took a deep breath before explaining. "Robbie doesn't know about the change—not yet at any rate. And I have no intention of telling him. The…the other day, I overheard some of the nurses talking about this new patient who'd come in—a man in his late thirties, married with three children—two of them still in primary school— works with children who have learning disabilities, plays the organ at his church, coaches a youth football team… and as if his life wasn't busy enough, he's also got liver cancer. Needs a transplant urgently—or he won't make it through the month."

Comprehension instantly dawned on her, and he could see her lips curve downward in a frown. "Oh, James. They didn't ask you to …"

"No, they didn't ask; I _offered._ That bloke's got so much to live for, so many people who rely on him. His absence would be felt far more than mine will be."

"Don't say that."

The sergeant shrugged. "Why not? It's true. When all's said and done, I'm just one mediocre police officer that the world can very easily do without."

"Speaking as your superior officer, James, I can say without hesitation that you are the furthest thing from 'mediocre.'"

The certainty in Innocent's voice delighted and surprised Hathaway "Can I quote you on that?" he asked, a broad grin enveloping his face.

The expression on Innocent's face, however, remained sombre, and she ignored his previous statement. " You said one year could make all the difference in the world. Why can't the same be true of one _person_? We need you in our lives: me, Laura, Robbie..."

"That's only three people—not much in the grand scheme of things"

"It's still three people who need you, James." Her eyes were pleading with him now, imploring him to see the value in himself that she evidentially saw clearly. "Look I'm not going to berate you about the wait list. What's done is done, and it _was_ a beautiful, selfless thing to do. But please, please just… try to hold on just a little while longer. _Live_ for us…." She carefully reached over and grabbed hold of one of his hands.

Her fingers were surprisingly icy, given the sweltering heat of the room. "_Cold hands, warm heart"_—wasn't that how the saying went? It had never before seemed quite so true or quite so poignant.

"_Live for us." _ Didn't she see that this is what he'd been doing along—that Jean, along with Laura and Robbie, was what had been keeping him alive? It wasn't the doctors, and it sure as hell wasn't the drugs. It was his friends. He wasn't totally sure whether or not they needed him, but he knew that he needed the three of them just as much as—if not more than—food and water and oxygen.

"I'll do my best, ma'am," he said finally. "But I really can't promise anything at this point. Even if I do get a transplant in time—which seems more and more unlikely as time goes by, I've only got a few years left at best—less if the cancer in my lung returns, which it probably will. But I'll keep fighting if that's what you need me to do…"

"It is. Thank you, James." Before he could say another word, she'd bent over and was kissing him lightly on the forehead.

After Innocent had sat back up again, Hathaway suddenly felt a few droplets of liquid trickling down his nose. It took James a few seconds to realize that they were Jean's tears, which had fallen as she was kissing him. He studied her closely and noticed how red and puffy her eyes were.

The sergeant suddenly realized that he'd never seen the chief superintendent cry before in all the time he'd known her. Innocent had caught him at once—walked in on the meltdown he'd had the day after Zelinsky had been arrested. She had sat with him for awhile, had rubbed his shoulder gently, had listened when he finally felt ready to talk, had handed him tissue after tissue after tissue—all the while displaying remarkable strength, calm, and composure.

All that composure was gone now as tears and mascara continued to stream down Innocent's face. Even though Hathaway felt more than a twinge of guilt that he'd brought her to this state, he couldn't help but feel genuinely touched that she found the thought of his impending death so devastating.

He could still feel her small, cold hand wrapped around his own so he gave it a light, reassuring squeeze to remind her that he was still with her—for now at least.

After her tears had slowed, she gently pulled away and reached for a fistful of tissues from the box on his bedside table. The silence that moments before had previously been peaceful and profound suddenly become overlong and uncomfortable.

"I need to ask you…well I suppose it's a bit more than a mere favour…but I'd still like to know if you'd be willing to do this for me."

" I'll do what I can—within reason…" Innocent said evenly.

"Look after Lewis for me when I'm gone."

She stared at him incredulously for a moment, wondering if she had really heard him properly. "I…what?"

" Look after Lewis when I'm gone. For quite some time now, there's been an understanding between us—that if one of us leaves the force, we both will. And seeing as I don't seem to have much of a choice in the matter….well, anyway….after I pass on…he's going to need all of the support he can get." She nodded her understanding, and he continued, confidence in her compliance growing with each word. "This….this…this will likely entail going well beyond your professional responsibility—especially considering he'll probably no longer be your professional responsibility." She nodded again. " So…er…will you…will you think about it?"

"I don't _have _to think about; of _course_, I'll do it."

Hathaway could almost feel the relief washing over his face. "Really?"

"Of course. Although… I'm a little insulted that you felt the need to _ask_; I would have hoped you'd known that I'd do it anyway."

"Do what anyway?" asked a voice from the door, and James looked over to see that Robbie had returned.

Hathaway and Innocent exchanged an uncomfortable look. " I…err…play…. 'Go Fish.' I've been getting sick of solitaire, and I thought now that I have company, it might be nice to play…something else for a change. That's all…"

Lewis looked sceptical for a moment but then he smiled. "Oh, would you mind if I played too?"

"Not at all. The deck's on my bedside table, Jean, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not all. I suppose I should deal, then?" The two men nodded their consent. After she'd given the cards a good shuffle, Innocent began passing them out to her companions.

When Hathaway received his, he smiled, eyes twinkling brightly at her. "Thanks."

She winked. " Any time."

It might have been or the nervous expression James had worn when Lewis had arrived back at the room, or the snippets of conversation the inspector had heard or the pile of crumpled tissues currently resting on Innocent's lap. In any case, Robbie Lewis instantly knew that his companions were still speaking—however indirectly—about something more far more serious than a card game.

THE END


End file.
